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Post by Kafria Fri Sep 16, 2011 12:42 am

In my recent adventure into writing I wondered if anyone had come across or participated in this?

http://www.nanowrimo.org/eng/whatisnano

Takes place in November and I am tempted to have a go once just to say I had a go, don't think work will make it easy to get completed though!

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Post by Tinuviel Fri Sep 16, 2011 3:04 am

I would have if I didn't have to start from scratch! Laughing But it seems really awesome! Oh to have time to do such a thing, what a luxury that would be!

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Post by Baingil Fri Sep 16, 2011 7:02 am

I've heard of it but I probably wouldn't get past the first 3 days before giving up. Laughing
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Post by Kafria Sun Oct 09, 2011 6:51 pm

Well, in explanation for my dipping in and out a bit recently I thought I'd let you know both Squach and I will be doing this in Novemeber. Currently plotting, having fun. Gonna do a supernatural story based in the UK with celtic mythology as the background to hang it on!
Will probably drive me nuts and not sure I will suceed, but enjoying this bit of it! Very Happy

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Post by Baingil Mon Oct 10, 2011 1:38 am

I'm hoping to participate this time. We'll see how far I get!
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Post by Kafria Mon Oct 10, 2011 8:58 pm

Well good luck!
We'll have to keep each other informed of progress on here... help motivate if need be!

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Post by Ally Mon Oct 10, 2011 9:13 pm

Good luck you three then! It does sound like fun, but oh boy! I would for sure fail yr13 if I had a proper go at it. Very Happy Plus I'm not very imaginative, attacked by lumberjacks, haha, good luck!! Very Happy

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Post by Orwell Mon Oct 10, 2011 10:20 pm

Anything that helps build the "writing" engine is good, I reckon. When I'm fired up on things, I try a bit of everything, my brain operating like a vacuum cleaner.

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Post by Kafria Fri Nov 04, 2011 12:01 am

Thought ti time I posted an apology here for my abscence. Nano is eating my life! On track so far (5000 words in three days, despite work). I do keep popping by, but it is taking my evenings just to keep up with my word count! just know I have not abandoned ship, just a little tied up at the mo. {{{{Orwell, behave! Pokey Tongue I can hear you thinking from here!}}}} I will endevour to comment a little more this weekend!

Very Happy

Baingil if are having a go I hope it is going okay for you too!


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Post by Pettytyrant101 Fri Nov 04, 2011 12:25 am

Good to hear from you Kafria- sounding good on the writing- will you be able to post your work here when you're done? Would be great to read it.
Wish I could write as diligently as you but my natural tendency is just to let it brew and bubble a bit like a kettle on the boil and its either write it all down or explode. So I can go up to a few weeks and not write a word then I have to write and everything that I've been musing on kind of comes pouring out.
I've tried forcing my self to write but I just can't seem to do it, there's no flow when I do it that way, it feels wrong somehow. So well done you on writing so much so quickly! cheers

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Post by Orwell Wed Nov 09, 2011 9:12 am

Kafria wrote:{{{{Orwell, behave! Pokey Tongue I can hear you thinking from here!}}}}

{{{hee hee hee cyclops }}}

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Post by Orwell Wed Nov 09, 2011 9:17 am

Pettytyrant101 wrote:Wish I could write as diligently as you but my natural tendency is just to let it brew and bubble a bit like a kettle on the boil and its either write it all down or explode.... I've tried forcing my self to write but I just can't seem to do it, there's no flow when I do it that way, it feels wrong somehow. So well done you on writing so much so quickly! cheers

When I write, I do it pretty much your way Kafria. Then I move onto something else --- could be anything including reading or Forumshiring ---- and when I decide it's time, I get back to proper writing again. Inspiration comes with hard work for me. It's a bit like the chicken and the egg though - I'm never sure what comes first, the desire to write or a captivating idea. All I know is, both need to be present, inspiration alone leads to a cul de sac and purely writing for the sake of it ends up at the same dead end. Mmm.... maybe I'm wrong.... Maybe I'm right... Actually, I think I write Petty's way....Shrugging

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Post by Pseudo-Kafria Wed Nov 09, 2011 9:22 am

{{{You knew exactly what I meant, Orwell.... our little secret Wink }}}

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Post by Kafria Wed Nov 09, 2011 9:09 pm

Well, so much for my good start, now behind and having read over some of it..... well lets just say it will be a while before much appears as it all needs a decent rewrite.

Struggling at the moment as I seem to be shoe horning two different things together. The basic supernatural fantasy tale is there, but this start is seeming very much like a personal remeniscence of the dale I grew up in and the characters that populated it. No reason why the two can't go together (thing I have most enjoyed writing so far is the family coming together at the local village bonfire which is straight from the ones I attended as a child), but will need a little weaving and editing to make it consitent and not lumpy.

Also have two overiding thematic ideas, but in the pressure to simply get the basics down I am finding I am going to have to go back and thnk about the actual words in a lot more detail.

Still this is all a learning curve for me, first time I've atempted to write anything of this sort of length so I'm just gonna enjoy the ride.!

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Post by Kafria Wed Nov 09, 2011 9:17 pm

On second thoughts, having given this a quick once over for typo's thought I'd post it. -Still rough so be kind! Very Happy

Emma ran up the stairs, catching her toe on a middle step. Her hands flew out in front of her to catch herself as she scrambled to regain a secure footing. Releasing a pent up breath she continued back into her childhood bedroom, she must have a hat, scarf and some gloves somewhere amongst the things that she left when she went travelling.

It was traditional living out here in the dale that there was a new set waiting each Christmas, in bright lurid colours, or a slightly misshapen slant showing the homemade origin of the gift. Very rarely did any of these gifts make it to charity shops or get thrown away. You never knew when you would misplace a set, or two would be needed, like the year the snow cut them off for a week, the electricity went down and the generator had to be used sparingly. Only the living room and dining room had an open fire, and although the back boiler kept the water hot, the rest of the house was freezing.

Opening the wardrobe Emma bent to rifle through the drawers hastily, aware that everyone was waiting for her impatiently, they couldn’t be late or they would miss the lighting of the bonfire. Grabbing a mismatched red bobble hat, green gloves and a rainbow striped scarf she turned and fled back down the stairs, slamming the front door on her way out and jumping into the open door of the beat up land rover.

“If we’re late Em..,” Henry threatened as he gunned the van forward and out of the rutted yard.

“Yeah I know, sorry,” she cut in quickly, “but you know how mardy I get when I’m cold.”

“Wouldn’t worry, we could‘ve put you on the fire to keep warm,” suggested Phil nudging her in the ribs.

Emma shoved him back hard.

“You’d make a better Guy, you scruff,” she taunted. “Seriously, don’t you own any trousers that don’t have holes in?”

“Nowt wrong with these, working trousers, last me a good while yet,” Phil grumbled.

“Side up! The pair of you. Em you’ve only been back five minutes, do you have to stir it already?”

“It’s what little sisters are for!”

“No little sisters are there so you can pull their hair and push them into puddles,” Henry declared.

He glanced at Emma an affectionate smile brightening his face. As he caught his brothers eye they shared a brief eye roll and joint sense of contentment.

“It is good to have you home though,” he added.

He returned his full attention to the road, reaching forward to switch the radio on for the five minute drive to the village. Emma turned and gazed out of the window, silently naming each set of lights, glancing for the fires that had already been lit and enjoying the occasional flash gifted by those already onto their fireworks.

As they drove along the single street of the village she noted the families, wrapped up warm and carrying the supplies they needed for the evenings entertainment. Henry pulled off the main road and past the village green, following the track behind a couple of houses before finding place the leave the landrover. Emma levered the rusty door open before jumping down from the high cab. The uneven ground caught her out and she stumbled forward, much to Phil's amusement.

“Enjoy your trip?”

“Ha ha.”

“I was beginning to think you’d got lost. Hurry up, get the gear out the back!” Aunt Roses voice cut through the spat. Both siblings turned to see her striding towards them, caught like rabbits in the headlights of an oncoming car. “Quickly!”

Phil spun on his heal and began unfastening the tailgate. As he pulled it down Emma swung her self straight up onto her belly, pulling herself forward until her knees could push against the metal. Grabbing the torch she started handing out tins and bags to her brother, the toffee, fireworks, Rice Krispie crunch and a number of things for the hot dog table. Once all was empty she took Phil’s offered hand before jumping to the ground again, this time finding her balance without trouble. Tucking a tin under one arm she grabbed a bag in each hand and hurried after her Aunt and brother.

As she reached the stile in the wall she turned and paused, looking for Henry.

“Where…,” she began. Phil put a hand on her arm, preventing her from retracing her steps.

“Leave him be,” he warned.

Emma looked at him, confusion in her gaze. Phil said nothing, just looked her straight in the eye and waited.

“Okay,” she agreed and turned back to the stile. She slid through sideways, the narrow opening rubbing against her jeans and making her smile in memory of the many years they had done this. As children the gap had seemed huge and they had swung through, suspended by their arms, before running across the tussocks of grass to the gate that separated the football field from the pasture and vaulting over the gate, feet flying above them.

Plodding across the field in the dark, Emma remembered the numerous events that had taken place here and the fun they had playing here. She nodded to those she could make out in the dark, exchanging brief greetings with a few. Manoeuvring through the new side gate she noted the awning set up with the make shift kitchen underneath. A couple of camp tables held bread buns, sauces and a camp stove with a bubbling pan of water above it. One of the village mums was busy emptying hot dogs into the water to heat up. Rose was occupying herself emptying her bags, rooting around for the onions she had sauteed back at the farm so she could put them on to heat on the second burner.

“Em, there’s another table nearer the fire, for the sweets.”

“I’ll get on it,” Emma replied, stooping to rummage through the bags to find tins of sticky treats. “Anyone else got anything to go?” she asked the others in the small group, grabbing the proffered goodies and setting off. She spent a happy ten minutes opening sweet smelling tins, testing the treats she couldn’t identify and arranging them on the table.

“Hey, leave something for the rest of us,” a deep voice admonished. Emma turned a delighted grin on her face.

“Uncle Will!” She rushed forward and threw herself into his enveloping bear hug.

She wrapped her arms around him as tight as they would go, feeling the answering squeeze lift the remaining tension from her. She was home and that also meant safe.

“We didn’t know if you’d make it. All okay?” she whispered. He drew back slightly and inclined his head marginally before releasing her and stepping back to examine her more closely.

“Richard with you?” she asked peering around her uncle eagerly.

“Stopped to pick up Chrissy first, make sure she didn’t miss out. They’ll be here later,” Uncle Will explained gruffly. “Think you’ve grown,” he accused as he reached out an arm to grip her upper arm. “Out of shape too.”

“Hey, I just got back. The evaluation can wait.” Emma’s light tone didn’t quite hide the hurt in her eyes. Her Uncle just stood, frozen and unsure for a moment. The yawning silence passed as a murmur rose from the assembled crowd, signalling that lighting of the fire.

Emma watched as a lit branch was applied to the preprepared kindling, an expectant hush fell, as if the fire could be stalled by the breath of those around it. A chuckle broke the peace as the fire stubbornly refused to take the gathered offering. As they waited one of the other local farmers grabbed a petrol can and liberally sloshed the nearest wood. The fierce heat of the fuel fire finally helped the wood catch and the flames leapt high, to delighted applause. The rest of the petrol soon sprayed out onto the flames, as if to prevent any further attempt by the wood to thwart the revels of the night.

Uncle Will threw an arm around her shoulders before leading her off, “Let’s grab some grub and find a decent spot to warm up,” he suggested. They helped themselves to hot dogs smothered with onions before finding a perch on a couple of old concrete blocks on the side of the dilapidated and weed infested tennis courts. Emma couldn’t remember a time when there had been nets or games on these courts.

As they tucked in the rest of their family gradually amassed. Henry trudged over slowly before flopping to the ground heavily. Rose arrived with a plate for him and then perched next to her husband. Last to join them were Phil and Rob, arguing about a game of pool they had played the day before.

“It was a foul and you know it,” Rob asserted.

“Really. You don’t think you can beat me fair and square so you have to try this,” was Phil’s response.

Emma stiffened in surprise. Those two had been inseparable as kids. Born just two weeks apart they had been more like twins ever since Will and Rose had taken her, Henry and Phil in. Seemed to be more than a little needling gone too far.

“Boys, pack it in. Em’s first night back, lets enjoy it,” Rose growled.

“Sorry,” the boys chorused, glancing away sheepishly. Rob stepped forward and ruffled Emma’s hair.

“Good to see you cuz.”

Emma shoved him away with a protest and a fist in the stomach. He sidestepped, grin splitting his face.

“Too slow,” he teased. “Hey where’re the fireworks?” he asked hunting about for the tin.

“Hold up, wait for your brother and Chrissy, they’ll be joining us,” Will replied.

Rob settled down and they sat in companionable silence, fire hot enough to feel as if it might burn them where they sat, while they drew scarfs and coats closer to keep out the chill that was nipping at their backs. Other families began to set off the fireworks they had brought in the sandy patch off to one side. They sat and watched the show, occasionally passing comment, tucking in to proffered toffee or fudge and laughing as it stuck their teeth together.

Gradually the fire sank and the show wound down as stocks were depleted. Some of the younger families said their goodbyes, leaving the older children to play in the lumpy shadows as the adults drew nearer to the fire and began to set the world to rights. Rob retrieved a bag of toffee apples, handing them out and soon the background conversations were drowned out by the crack, crunch and slurps of enjoyment.

“Finally.” Aunt Rose broke the silence.

Emma turned then followed her Aunt’s gaze to see her eldest cousin and his fiance arriving. She leapt to her feet and went to meet them. Richard flinched slightly as she hugged him and she gave him a quizzical look.

“Souvenir,” he commented and Emma noticed Chrissy stiffen. To change the subject she offered to fetch some hot dogs, but the couple said they’d eaten.

“Just as well, Rob’s dying to start the fireworks,” Emma said, returning to the others.

Rob took his cue and grabbed the tin and set off to the sandpit, Phil in hot pursuit and arguing about who should do the honours. Emma sank to the ground next to her eldest brother, leaning against him as her jet lag caught up with her.

She watched the small sparks of light as they winked into existence for a heartbeat, before fading and leaving only their afterglow behind. Each small candle and pyramid was admired and acclaimed in it’s own right, less gaudy than the big displays, but each appreciated for it’s worth rather than being lost in the crowd, until all that was left was the traditional rocket. Rob won the battle for the slow match and lit it before he and Phil ran back to the family for the final show. They all watched the assent and opening of this blossom of light until the falling seeds had faded from view.

The fire had burned low and very few villagers were left. The boys and Uncle Will helped damp down the remaining fire, Aunt Rose tucking a few foil wrapped tatties into the ashes, before the family headed for home and sleep.

(Know the family tree may be a little confused, reader gets a better snese from earlier bits, but to make it clear. Uncle Will and Aunt Rose, their two boys Richard (with fiance Chrissy) and Rob. Emma and her two brothers, Henry and Phil (who were orphaned and raised by the aunt and uncle with their cousins!)

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Post by Pettytyrant101 Thu Nov 10, 2011 3:03 pm

I have to admit Kafria to wishing I had the earlier stuff to read as I did get a bit mixed up with all the names and who is what to whom. But that minor gripe aside (and its not a writing problem as I assume reading from the start I would not be confused) there are good characters who feel genuine, given his brief page time I have a particlar liking of Uncle Will, he reminds me of my grandfather. And good descriptive touches- the way at an outdoor fire your front is cooking whilst your back is freezing was nicely observed!
What we need here Kafria is more of it, as I have no idea as of yet from this what kind of story you are writing (but I want to find out which is a good sign), it could be anything from a supernatural Dale tale to a romantic tale on the moors! So may I have some more please, ma'am. Very Happy

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Post by Kafria Thu Nov 10, 2011 8:51 pm

Thanks for the feedback and support, writing in a vacumn is never good! (Especially one that includes Squach writing effortlessly!)

Tale is still very early, but I do have a little supernatural stuff written, this section is part of the prologue. I know it is an overused device, but I get the feeling this tale is going to have a long slow bulid of family stuff before I get to the action. So a bit of action at the beginning will at least let the reader know we are headed there in the long run.


As she crossed the threshold Emma paused, scanning the room and the door through into the kitchen carefully. She waited on full alert for a twitch of movement or a tiny sound of warning. When none came she swiftly bent down, lifting the salt from her jeans and using it to pour a line of salt along the floor. She glanced back into the room before repeating her actions at both of the window spaces. Task completed, she studied the room before her.

Broken doors and missing windows had done little to protect the contents from the ravages of the weather, leaves and grass had blown in and gathered at the base of the sideboard, in places turning into a dark, smelly ooze were it had become soaked by the bad weather. The sagging sofa supported a multicoloured colony of mold that covered an equally lurid pattern on the cushions. On top of the fireplace a picture frame still stood, although the picture was faded and an empty space replaced the gaze of loved ones it had once framed.

Emma relaxed into the continuing quiet and crossed the room to enter the kitchen, hurrying to repeat her salt lines at the back door and just a single window this time. She turned back to room and jumped backwards as she found herself face to face with an old, half decayed man, lank hair straggling alongside his partially liquefied face.

Emma dropped the salt packet still clutched in her hand and reached quickly to get both hands on the stake she carried. Before she could heft it round into the ghost in front of her she felt a vicious shove and flew sideways into the dresser. She squeezed her eyes tight shut in response to the sharp pain in her temple and shoulder before a roar of rage forced her to confront the angry spirit in front of her.

He made towards her, arms outstretched, already grasping for her throat. In desperation she scrabbled across the floor back to the salt box. She felt the whistle of air behind her, followed by a huge crash as one of the large plates still on the dresser fell to the floor right where she had been laid. Swinging her legs underneath her Emma quickly scattered the salt on the floor, spinning on her backside in a full circle to complete an unbroken line. Dropping the packet she clutched desperately at her knees, shakes running through her as she buried her face in her legs and tried to pull herself together once again.


I have decided to stop worrying too much about the outline and write the scenes that are shouting at me, will try stitching them together later.

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Post by Orwell Thu Nov 10, 2011 8:59 pm

I will get around to reading this, Kafria-Pseudo-Kafria, but I'm in a Forumshire mood, not a serious story mood. You probably already know my philosophy on this kind of thing! Very Happy In the meantime, why not post the early stuff as well as the new stuff? If Petty's confused, I'll probably be confused too, even taking into account the fact I'm far far smarter than that silly ol' (very 'ol, I hear) Scotshobbit. Very Happy

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Post by Kafria Thu Nov 10, 2011 9:05 pm

I would, but I wrote the bonfire stuff out of sequence in a fit of melencholy about how it wasn't like it was when I was a kid. I am still organising and filling in the gap from the prologue to the bonfire. My carefully constructed chapter plan that was supposed to help me write 50,000 words in 30 days is failing. Some scenes are refusing to be written and others are popping up out of nowhere. I will wrestle this family into order. I will!

And hey, we all have to be in the right mood to sit and read stuff don't we!

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Post by Pettytyrant101 Thu Nov 10, 2011 9:12 pm

I liked that a lot. Good descriptive narative. Very Happy

Your resolution of how to write it sounds like my own current writing pattern- I've got bits and scenes from all over the place!

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Post by Orwell Thu Nov 10, 2011 9:13 pm

Oh well, I will get to it, even if it's out of sequence... Rolling Eyes

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Post by Orwell Fri Nov 18, 2011 12:17 am

Okay, I've read it. All I can say is, please give me a beginning. What you've done is good, but it's too hard for me to work out who's who. Also, I'd like to be inroduced to Emily. You know, get to know her a bit. The ghost scene will be fine once I've got to know the girl a little and so, hopefully, feel more empathy and concern for her welfare.

Your story reminds me a bit of the TV show "Supernatural", Kafria. That, of course, is not a bad thing. Very Happy

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Post by Kafria Fri Nov 18, 2011 10:14 pm

Thanks for reading, I will try and get a sensible beginning up at somr point, but the whole thing is not co operating at the moment!

I end up writing bits that I don't know where they fit and then plotting out the links and finding them impossible to write.

I either did too much or too little prep - Yeah I know that sounds daft, but if I had done less I could just see where it took me or if I had done more some of the kniks I am hitting would have been figured out.

Have written a creation tale (largely based on the Irish celt tradition) and is frankly awful, an apocolypse tale (majority norse) which is a little better and a rebirth tale (some vedic tradtion thrown in here!) which is okayish.

Not surprised it seems like Supernatural - it is a major influence on the conception of the tale.

Due to this and the crazy week I am over 10,000 words behind as of today! Turning this into a large exploration of the family I think, to free myself up to write the other bits that keep popping into me head! Very Happy

On reflection here is the first intro of the family, not Emma though!

Rose hefted the frying pan off the stove, dropping the large hob cover down before carrying it to the centre of the large kitchen table.

It sat in the middle of the square kitchen, scrubbed pine that had clearly been well used, scratches, burns and pen scribbles attesting to it’s long history. A collection of mismatched chairs surrounded it, squashed together to fit the unexpectedly large family around the available space.

Behind Rose the stove made the centre piece of one wall, base units on either side holding a multitude of tins and kitchen equipment, not to mention the last few bowls of the mornings baking efforts. A dresser faced her on the other side of the kitchen, her best pots displayed proudly on the top shelf above the chipped and clashing remnants of the three different crockery sets that made up the everyday pots.

A sunken sofa took up the wall nearest the stairs, the bright crochet cover and multitude of cushions failing to hide the fact it was faded and covered in dog hair. The final wall held the sink and appliances, with a large picture window that gave a clear view of the muddy yard, the car abandoned in the middle, doors and boot open as it awaited the cargo to be loaded.

Rose watched her eldest son through the glass as he stacked a couple of shovels and a torch in the back, than headed back into the outhouse, ducking his sandy head to avoid the lintel. Rose’s gaze drifted along the wall to the herb pots stacked up alongside, the coming frosts would soon put paid to them.

“Dad?” Rich’s head poked out of the outhouse, peering towards the milking shed, where Will was seeing to the cows. Rose followed his gaze, watching her husbands shadow as he cross the shadowed space.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Shall I load the camping kit just in case?”

Rose smiled. Just like him to cover all eventualities, ever dependable. Will lent against the door jam, settling in for a discussion on what kit the two of them needed, refusing to be hurried. Rose turned back to the kitchen, she had her own jobs to see to. She had a last check of the food spread ready before walking to the bottom of the stairs and hollering up them.

“Breakfast boys, outta bed now, I’m not making anymore. Miss this and it’s help yourself,” she yelled.

She closed and latched the door at the bottom of the stairs, trying to keep the heat of the stove in the kitchen and turned back across the kitchen and into the boot room, repeating the call into the yard and down the passage to Henry’s domain.

While she waited for the masses to assemble she returned to the worktops, rolling out the scone mix she had made, covering it with egg and cheese before she cut it into triangles. She placed these swiftly on a tray and dropped them in the bottom oven. They should be ready in time for the pack ups.

Loud thumps resounded through the floor as Phil and Rob forced themselves from bed and downstairs to eat, stomachs proving more insistent than the desire to stay coddled in duvet and blankets. The knowledge of the imminent departure gave them an added impetus. The door flew open and both the boys lumbered through.

“Morning mum,” Phil said in greeting as he headed across the room, sitting at the nearest chair and immediately pulling eggs, bacon, mushrooms and toast onto the plate in front of him. He reached for the coffee pot, filling his cup and adding two heaped spoons of sugar to it. He passed it on to his cousin, who fixed his cup with a very carefully measured one and a half spoons. A squabble over the sauce was interrupted as Rose cuffed her son around the back of his head, giving Rob the chance to grab it and douse his breakfast in red.

“Thanks Aunt Rose,” he mumbled around a mouthful of eggs and bacon.

The outer door opened, a gust of icy air blasting through the room for an instant.

“Arghh! Close the door,” was yelled from the table.

“Morning to you too,” Will replied gruffly, shedding his dark waxed jacket and kicking off his boots. He placed them carefully to one side of the door, ready for when he was ready to head back out again. He took his place at the head of the table and Rose fixed him a plate of food and mug of coffee.

“Ta love,” Will thanked her before tucking in hungrily.

“All sorted?” Rose asked him.

She sat and grasped her coffee cup tightly, fingers rubbing together absently as she sorted through her mental checklist.

“Nearly, Rich’s just finishing off then he’ll be in too. We’ll head off straight after breakfast, long drive,” he answered.

"So what needs doing while you're gone? Rose asked.

"Henry's still got the walling in the east paddock to finish, will take him a couple of day. He'll need more stone up there today so these two miscreants can do that first. You Boy's ‘ll have to take on the morning milk as well as the evening while we're gone. Sheep need moving up to the top moor, start with those from the sleets," Will catalogued.

He paused, wondering what else might need doing. The trouble was leaving the younger lads in charge of the jobs. Henry, his eldest nephew was great, dependable and methodical. Since his accident the previous year though he'd had to take it steady. Not that he liked to admit it, always pushing himself too far and setting himself back. When that happened he ended up in bed for several days, recovering his strength and waiting for the aches and pains to subside enough that he could successfully ignore them and mislead his Aunt he was okay again. Although, truth be told, there was barely a day when he didn't feel the dull throb of muscle and bone protesting at his movements.

While the younger boys were boy physically fit, having them both together was a bit of a liability. Whereas if you left one busy on a job it would be completed quickly and efficiently, leaving the two together seemed to halve their work rate.

As teenagers they had continually been distracted by the latest grand scheme that they were cooking up. These days though it was more likely they would spend the time needling each other until one or other stormed off and the other refused to finish and rushed home to complain to Rose or Will. The family were mystified by this souring of the cousins friendship and as yet neither lad had felt the need to share the cause with the wider family. It made for some very tense meals.

Unfortunately, there was nothing for it this time. Will had received a phone call from one of his oldest friends, pointing him to a series of strange events near Ayr. Animal deaths, strange noises and most worryingly a disappearance. This was more than just a restless spirit and needed dealing with. That meant he and his eldest boy needed to head into Scotland to find the cause of the problem and find a solution, quickly. If an obvious solution could not be found then it would have to wait until after Richard's wedding in five days time.

"I'll ring when I can tonight and we can sort out any more issues then," he added.

Phil and Rob finished demolishing the food on their plates and began to leave noisily.

"And lads," Will said. He waited until he was sure both had stopped and he had caught the eye of both. "None of your aggro while I'm gone."

"Sure Uncle Will," Phil replied before turning and leaving, the stairs shaking under his pounding run.

"Rob," Will demanded of his son, "I mean it, your mum's going to have enough to do, what with the wedding an’ all."

"I'll try dad," he huffed. He turned slowly and trudged up the stairs, shadow and thunder to his cousins wind and lightening.

"I'm sorry Rose, you know we wouldn't go if I thought it could wait." Will leaned forward and caught her hands around her mug, gently caressing her fingers as he spoke.

"I know, better to get it out of the way now, that way the newly weds might have a chance at a honeymoon."

They sat in silence, both drawn to memories of their own ceremony, barely had it finished before Rose's dad had dragged Will straight off for a two week job on the South coast. Rose grinned ruefully, turning one of her hands to clasp his.

"With any luck Emma should be home in a couple of days," she added

"Any word from Maria while I was out?"

"No, still nothing." Rose flushed slightly, blinking rapidly and sniffing once in an effort to clear the sudden emotion. Will lent forward and with his free hand gave her a brief squeeze.

"She'll be here. She'll not miss Richie's wedding. You know what she's like for her surprises."

Rose nodded slowly, it was true her daughter never did like to be tied to a timetable, preferring to drift where the wind took her and startle people with her arrival. Will's touch helped to soothe her, but didn't fully disentangle the knot in her stomach. Now all the boys were home it made her yearning for the two girls even stronger. The two sat in silence, both lost in thoughts of what their wayward child may be up to.

The melancholy was broken by the arrival of Richard, hair sticking in all directions as he removed the cap that had warmed his head outside.

“All packed, just going to nip upstairs and say goodbye to Chrissy,” he informed them, striding straight through the kitchen and up the stairs.

His parents remained silent, soaking up the last few quiet moments together, saying all they needed to without words. Richard returned, Chrissy following mutely behind. Will pushed back his chair and led the way out of the kitchen. Both women followed them to the door and watched till the car was gone. Rose silently fixed Chrissy a coffee, which she sat and nursed, gazing into space, lost in her own thoughts. Rose busied herself, clearing the table and getting on with the baking in the heavy silence, which lasted until the arrival of the final member of the family for his morning meal.


Last edited by Kafria on Fri Nov 18, 2011 10:25 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : not doing double posting!)

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Post by Orwell Fri Nov 18, 2011 10:28 pm

There is no other option for you but to keep writing no matter what. I wrote fifty seven thousand, eight hundred, and twenty two Beginnings (or thereabouts) and have tried eight hundred and five approaches - including techniques and methods and persprectives - (or thereabouts) - and have written only four complete drafts for books. The last was "Jack", all 500,000 words of it. The only thing that got me to that point is "doing it" whenever you can, however you can and never mind the quality. Also, send Squatch off to her Skattykatzenfjordian Aunt, Magdalena Squash - that'll free up your time. (I hear she's awfully strict and doesn't drink).

Hey! Your post expanded!!!

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Post by Orwell Fri Nov 18, 2011 11:25 pm

Mmm.. I''ve no right to do this but....


Kafria wrote:"
Rose hefted the frying pan off the stove, dropping the large hob cover down before carrying it to the centre of the large kitchen table.

Orwell suggests (somepin like):
Rose took the frying pan off the stove, dropped the hob cover, and took it over to the table. [/i]

Kafria wrote:
It sat in the middle of the square kitchen, scrubbed pine that had clearly been well used, scratches, burns and pen scribbles attesting to it’s long history. A collection of mismatched chairs surrounded it, squashed together to fit the unexpectedly large family around the available space.

Orwell sugests (somepin like):
It was scrubbed pine, much worn and covered with scratches, burn marks and pen scribbles, testaments to a long history. Mismatched chairs surrounded it, jammed close together to host her huge family.

Kafria wrote: Behind Rose the stove made the centre piece of one wall, base units on either side holding a multitude of tins and kitchen equipment, not to mention the last few bowls of the mornings baking efforts. A dresser faced her on the other side of the kitchen, her best pots displayed proudly on the top shelf above the chipped and clashing remnants of the three different crockery sets that made up the everyday pots

Orwell suggests (somepin like):
The stove was the centrepiece of Rose's kitchen. It had base units (*) either side, cramped with tins and kitchenware and the last few bowls from breakfast. On the opposite wall was Rose's dresser where she proudly displayed her best pots. Below were her everyday pots and pans, and her crockery, the remnantsof several sets that had survived the years and her family...

yah da ya da yah da...

A quick effort. Sorry to be so presumptious. Just thought you might do well to give Rose the ownership of the kitchen a bit. Women do that, you know, put their personality into a kitchen. (Hee hee - but it's true). Also, I tried to get the description more down-home. You tend to use a bit of purple prose to describe mundane things. Common old words particular to a description suit me best. I don't pretend my version is all that great, but I hope it gives an idea what I mean. Like all beginnings I fear you might be trying to explain/describe/capture/impress too much.

Of course, what I've done might be crap. That's the trouble you get when opinionated friends try to help! Very Happy

Let others now offer judgment! Twisted Evil

* Don't know what base units are. My ignorance showing? Very Happy

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